Shattered
by ChristabelRose
Summary: In which Wolfram talks to himself. Sort of.


**Title:** Shattered

**Rating:** Work-safe

**Characters:** Wolfram, obviously, and mentions of Yuuri

**Disclaimer:** I do not own KKM, for some unfortunate reason

**Enjoy!**

This idea poped into my head and just wouldn't leave me alone, and I decided to write it down. I read it over, but if there are any mistakes, I apologize in advance.

**EDIT (25/05/2008):** Made a few minor changes and fixed some stuff up.

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**Shattered**

_His skin is clammy, his forehead hot, and he feels feverish, ill, about to explode. The blood is pulsating against his skull, begging, screaming for escape. He wants to crawl out of his own skin and burrow into Yuuri, deep into the recesses of his heart, and stay there forever. _

_When the night screams and the gossamer-thin wings of pain brush against his soul, the loneliness encroaches upon his being, as inevitable as the movement of the stars. The desperate edges of passion die away as he gives into the darkness, Yuuri's face the last remnant of sight. _

"How long do you think this will last," asks Soldier, cold and calculating as ever, seeking to find a fast, efficient solution to the problem at hand.

"It is becoming rather tedious, isn't it," replies Cynic, beyond annoyed at the current state of affairs, and not particularly concerned.

"_He's_ drifting farther and farther away; away, into the black abyss; away, into the darkness of hell; away, int—"

"You're being a _little_ melodramatic, don't you think," snaps Cynic, abruptly cutting off the ravings of Believer.

"Melodramatic, maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that this is not normal. This fever has lasted much too long; _he_ really needs to snap out of it, and soon." Healer's words send a cold shiver up everyone's spine; they all know that he is not prone to fits of fancy, and when he speaks, he speaks cold, harsh truth.

_There is a place where the dream lingers. Where the rain is cleansing and washes away the sorrows of the day. Where he can dance under the rain, twirl under its magic and kick at water puddles, throw his head to the sky and laugh, heartily and freely. _

_He dreams moments in different colors and different moods, storm clouds hovering in his eyes. And he dreams in the dark – always the dark, it's safer in the dark – of science dancing with art, of the color of changing leaves in Yuuri's eyes, of being an architect of the future and painting the blank canvas of their life. _

"Why should _he_ wish to leave, when _he_ is numb here, impervious to the cold and the pain, to the hurt that can freeze _his_ very being," proclaims Cynic. "Why should _he_ wake, when Yuuri is the water and _he_ is always looking upstream, into the past, on the wrong side of the bridge. You cannot change the course of a river—"

"Yes you can!" interrupts Lover, suddenly materializing, looking so frail, so unsure, his voice a mere whisper, quivering slightly within the confines of the small, confining room. "Throw a rock into the river, and you have changed it, irrevocably. The river is different, and even if this difference cannot be measured, a deliberate change is made nonetheless."

"I have faith in him," Lovers tates, his voice gaining strength and volume, "Yuuri will save us. You'll see, he'll save us, he'll save us, you'll see…"

"This really is nerve-wracking. I wish _he_ would just snap out of it already, so much time has been wasted," ascertains Friend, not unkindly, worried about all the opportunities, the memories, never gained, now lost. He goes to stand by Lover and holds his hand, silent comfort offered with a simple touch. The two huddle together in a dark corner, adrift from the rest of the occupants of the room, and, after some moments, Believer joins them.

"Time is but something we have created to keep from insanity."

_He dreams of a story, a love story, where Yuuri and he slowly, gently, come together. Seduction happens with exquisite slowness, but that's alright, he can be a patient man this time. _

_In his dreams, Yuuri whispers sweet nothings into his ears, his words an honest brush against the soul. In his dreams, Yuuri acknowledges his touch. His existence. And together, they contemplate notions of the infinite. _

"Look at us, splintered, separated, drifting more and more apart. This is all Yuuri's doing. It wasn't like this before he came along. _He_ wasn't like this before the new demon king came along."

And this time, no one protests Cynic's words, for he is merely voicing a thought which has been burning at the back of everyone's mind.

"The shadows have become our world. They come out in the glow; shells of a person, shells of _his_ person. They are what make _him_. _He_ does not have a shadow, because _he_ is one. All that's left are echoes of laughter, brutally beautiful things. And Yuuri will not find _him_ beneath the waves."

_With imaginary fingers, he traces Yuuri's face in his dreams, riding the waves of pleasure and pain, leading toward a darker place, beyond life, beyond sleep, more seductive than death. He dreams of their lips touching, so gently, and this kiss is new, untainted. It is catastrophic to his very soul, and he shatters, into a million pieces, each etched with the color of onyx. _

_In his dreams he is safe. Here, where his intangible self is freed from the shackles of his corporeal body, he has no responsibilities, no worries, and does not heed the physicality of existence. Out there, everything hurt; seeing hurt, breathing hurt, living hurt, loving hurt, and it was becoming a pain he could no longer bear. _

Addressing Healer, Cynic demands, "Can't you do anything? Can't you heal this fever?"

"Don't you think I would already have done so if it was in my power?! I'm as helpless as the rest of you…" With a defeated sigh, Healer slides down to the floor, crouching with his head held in his palms.

"A lot of good you are," mutters Cynic, earning a heated glare from Healer.

"Yuuri will come, and he'll heal _him_. I'm sure of it," insists Believer.

"Why should he? He doesn't care! Yuuri doesn't love _him_!" exclaims Cynic vehemently, raw anger lacing his voice.

"Does too!" Lover and Believer, as always, defending Yuuri with eternal optimism.

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

_"Enough!" booms his voice, echoing, weak with pain. _

Silence envelops the small room as each occupant is startled into acquiescence, too shocked to utter a single word. _His_ caged heartbeat resonates all around them, and they hear _him_ groan once, twice, before settling down once again, the calm before the storm.

Finally, after a lengthy silence, Soldier steps up. "You are all out of control, yelling and bickering like small children, making _him_ angry. This is no time to let your emotions run wild. And picking fights with one another is of no help. There is nothing that we can do, so we might as well wait in peace… wait and see… and hope for the best."

_But when the dream fades and the tangle of reality returns, he is once again reminded that he is, in effect, alone. Yuuri and he are not tethered to each other, and anger bleeds from his features as his dreams lose their color and float away into nothingness. _

_Reality cheapens things. And he thinks to himself, "We were never more than a dream." _

"Are you alive?"

_"It depends…"_

"Depends on what?"

_"On your definition of life." _

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If you're confused, that's ok, so am I XDDD

This is my 2nd fanfic, and my 1st KKM one, so any concrit is very welcome! This fic was somewhat inspired by a scene from Pirates of the Carribean: At world's End (I don't wanna spoil it for anyone, but for those who have seen the movie, I'm sure you know which scene I'm talking about).


End file.
